In the meantime the Emperor was trying to bring about a conference of the Powers to pull the chestnuts out of the fire for him in regard to the Roman question. A conference was his panacea for all diplomatic ailments. In this he was warmly seconded by the Empress, who, in a long conversation with Lord Lyons, in which “she spoke with much grace both of manner, and, I think, with very great ability,” urged the importance and propriety of non-Catholic, as well as Catholic, Powers taking part in it. Lord Stanley’s comment upon this letter was characteristic. He said that the Empress’s “frank and sensible conversation” furnished the best reason he had received yet for keeping out of the affair altogether. Why should we be asked to bear for the Emperor the responsibility which he had assumed? Prince Napoleon shared Lord Stanley’s views. He thought that the best service England could render the Emperor would be to advise him to give up the idea of a conference and settle the matter with Italy by satisfying, at least in a certain measure, Italian aspirations. “He declares,” writes Lord Lyons, “that Italy will never be quiet, and that the unity of Italy will never be assured until she gets Rome for her capital. He believes that the Emperor’s support of the Pope is very unpopular with the great majority of the French people, and that it will, if persevered in, be a serious danger to the dynasty.” ... He wishes England to advise the Emperor that “He will not be able to hold his own unless he abandons the system of personal government and gives a large increase of liberty.” Grumbling and growling everywhere! The Emperor at his wits’ ends and talking of “moral influence,” that last poor refuge of a desperate statesman! In spite of political troubles, and the manifest lack of sympathy on the part of England, Louis Napoleon was not slow in discovering the charm and sterling merits of Lord Lyons, whose tact could not fail to ingratiate him wherever he went. “The Emperor talked to me a long time and related to me interesting anecdotes, some very amusing, of the conduct of various persons towards him in past times.” But unfortunately Lord Lyons was no gossip, and so these “very amusing” stories have been lost. How entertaining it would have been to be carried, like Cleofas by Asmodeus, _le diable boiteux_, through the roof, and allowed to listen unseen to the talk between the two. To the world at large Louis Napoléon in the Tuileries was a mystery as silent as the Sphinx in the desert, for so the newspapers described him. Few men suspected that in the grey volutes of the brain which lay behind that wooden mask there was a sense of rather sardonic humour, which, when he chose to give it play, made him the best of company. We may be sure that the Ambassador, no less gifted in that respect, would not be slow to throw back the ball in these encounters of wits.